Short 3

HardStop walked into his kitchen and opened the fridge. Three slices of finely aged turkey, no bread to put them on. Perfect. He took the warm cold cuts to roll up and trick his body into thinking it was eating more food. Excitement shot its way up his spine. There was a single pack of microwavable Casseroli-O’s; delicious noodle pockets stuffed with different, surprise  fillings in each one. He’d been given them as a thanks for stopping a convenience store robbery after refusing other rewards from the grateful owner.

HardStop popped the pack into the microwave and flicked the kitchen’s light switch, then realized it was already on. He opened the curtain in front of the tiny window above the sink and light flooded through the kitchen onto his bed and the door. He floated up to look down at the street, as he did often to make sure the crosswalk wasn’t in peril.

A noise concluded his watch and he sighed loudly. The light on his arm turned red. Traffic on the street just below was frozen, but that wasn’t the reason he used his time-stop.

“Damn.” HardStop said as he pulled his flame-covered microwave out from where it was mounted. He carried it out of the apartment, went downstairs and dropped it into the dumpster in the alley. It reminded him of being a young father, when he’d make dinner for Bianca. He relied on microwavable entrees to feed her, but usually failed to read the directions, resulting in undercooked food, or fire. 

He stared deep into the dumpster fire with his eyebrows raised high above his glasses as he resumed time, hearing the sound of traffic over that of the dying flame.

HardStop drew the curtain, sat in the only chair at the table and enjoyed his turkey rolls.

“I wonder which Casseroli-O’s I would have gotten.”